


Blood for Blood

by lalejandra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, F/M, Transformative Works Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-07
Updated: 2004-04-07
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalejandra/pseuds/lalejandra
Summary: Draco is not stupid enough to let anyone -- Gryffindor or no -- away with his bodily fluids.





	Blood for Blood

Draco disliked fear. He disliked its scent, its... feel. Fear was something for commoners, for Mudbloods and Muggles. Malfoys did not experience fear -- especially not because of some Muggleborn bitch who thought she could intimidate and blackmail like a Pureblood.

Granger had to be put in her place, had to know she wasn't allowed to treat a Malfoy in such a manner. And Draco had to stop being _afraid_ to turn a corner, had to stop fearing being pulled into another empty corridor.

Draco was tempted to go to his father -- but really, situations like this required a delicate extraction of personal revenge, not an angry parent. He didn't even involve Crabbe and Goyle -- this needed _finesse_.

He had an elaborate plan: he would corner Granger, maybe use a Portkey, maybe drag her by her frizzy, disgusting hair into one of the dungeon rooms, tie _her_ up. Torture her. Pull out her fingernails. Trace his initials into her stomach with one of Snape's sharp Potions knives. Hang her by her hair from the ceiling and burn her toes crispy and black.

Sexual torment was such a very _common_ and boring thing. Like he cared that she got him off. Like anyone would believe her.

But he couldn't take that chance. Just the whisper of a rumor about _anything_ to do with Mudbloods, and Draco's mother would be... unhappy. However, of course Granger would not understand that an unhappy Narcissa meant an unhappy Lucius, and an unhappy Lucius meant an unhappy Dark Lord. Draco did not want to have to deal with an unhappy Dark Lord.

*

It turned out, though, that Draco's planning was all for naught. It was the fourth or fifth Quidditch game of the season -- it didn't really matter, since it was against Hufflepuff, and Slytherin won easily. Draco stood under the shower for a long time, letting the water beat down on his head with his eyes closed until everyone had left. He didn't feel like talking to anyone -- they didn't understand that just because they won against Hufflepuff didn't mean they'd win against Gryffindor. Or even Ravenclaw.

And when Draco finally turned off the taps and turned around to get his towel, Granger was there. In the doorway. Fully clothed. Smirking.

Stupid Gryffindor bitch.

"Hello, Malfoy."

"Hello, Granger."

"Not Mudblood?"

Draco shrugged. He didn't rush to cover himself -- only pulled the towel down from its hook and rubbed it over his hair. Some preferred a drying spell, but Draco did enjoy the feel of a soft terry cloth against his skin. Drying spells left his skin just a bit too scaly.

"Well," said Granger. "I'm impressed." She walked toward him. He wanted to back away, but didn't. The gleam in her eye made him kind of... nervous. She stepped carefully around puddles; her shoes clicked on the tile.

"I live to impress you, Granger." Draco rolled his eyes and wrapped the towel around his waist. "Out of my way."

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Say please. Say, 'Please excuse me, Hermione.'"

"You aren't even supposed to be in here, Granger. If you were caught, it would mean quite a few points off Gryffindor. Would you really want your housemates to know that you -- "

"Hush, Malfoy. You're boring me."

"Ah, Blaise. I see." Draco nodded and stepped toward 'Granger'. "Life's been boring lately? Want a round or two?"

'Granger' smiled, and Draco felt his skin crawl. "Blaise? How sweet. Two Pureblood fags shagging madly in the dormitories?"

"Not quite," said Draco shortly. " _Please_ excuse me, _Granger_."

"No, I don't think so." Granger stepped even closer. "Who will you guess next? Harry again? Ron? Ron fancies you as much as he hates you, I think. Neville?" Granger was only a breath away, and in her shoes she was just slightly taller than Draco. Her eyes flicked over him, and she jerked the towel away. "Maybe Snape?"

Draco snickered despite himself.

"Hm," Granger said. "So Snape wouldn't need to transfigure himself into me to get your attention?"

"Really, Granger, now you're reaching. Stretching, even. Can we move on?" Draco did not grab for his towel, didn't look down, didn't think about his cock stirring, filling with blood, reaching toward her. She looked good in evil. It made her eyes glow.

"No." Granger pushed him, fast, and he slipped, fell against the wall, all his breath leaving his chest in one long ooof, hands flinging out to the sides to get purchase on the slick tile.

"Granger -- really -- this is highly -- "

"Shut up." She pulled out her wand, waited until he got his footing, and ran it down his stomach. "There we are. Hello," she said to his cock. She looked at him, looked into his eyes, and he smirked.

"Is it fair that you have a wand and I don't? What happened to that Gryffindor sense of equality?"

"I think your wand -- " Another glance down. " -- is more than a match for mine. But in the interest of remaining as much of a one-dimensional stereotype as possible..." She paused, tucked her wand down the back of her neck. "Now."

"Now?" Draco spread his legs a little, for balance, kept his arms out to the side.

Granger's hand wrapped around his cock, and she squeezed. Hard. He bit his lip, but didn't gasp, and she began to stroke. "Now," she said. "I want mine."

"That's mine there," replied Draco.

"You're so clever." She rolled her eyes. "You know, all the Gryffindors are afraid of me. Hufflepuffs are boring. Ravenclaws don't care about sex. Slytherins won't fuck a Gryffindor. But you... you still think, don't you, that I'm someone dressed up in a Hermione suit."

It wasn't a question, but Draco had to answer. "You could be anyone," he said. "You could be... Dumbledore."

Granger snorted. "Don't talk bollocks," she said, and sank to her knees. Her mouth went around his cock, and all the way down in one smooth motion. Clearly _someone_ hadn't been too afraid of her to fuck her, if it really was Granger inside that skin at all.

Draco leaned against the cold tile, pressed his skin into it, kept his hands out. Who knew what would happen if he touched her? This way, at least, it was all her doing. She had him by his wand; how could he get away?

She grabbed his bollocks with one hand, squeezed them even tighter than she squeezed his cock, ran her finger along that little fold of skin between his balls and his arse, rubbed harder and harder, pulled her hand along his cock as her mouth came up and went down. He kept his breathing even; it was easier than he thought it would be. He ran through people who would be in Granger's skin, and could only come up with Potty. Weasel. Longbottom.

He sucked air in through his teeth when her finger probed his arse, put his hands on her head and pushed her away hard enough that she fell onto her arse. "I bottom for no one," he growled, his voice hoarser, deeper than he was expecting.

"Draco Malfoy, top extraordinaire?" She rolled her eyes. "Right."

Draco sank to his knees, pushed open her legs, and held her thighs down with his knees. "Right," he said. She wasn't wearing knickers under her robes. In fact, she was wearing nothing under her robes as far as he could see. She smelled like salt and clove and he wanted to lick her, but didn't. Tonguing a Gryffindor would be one thing; tonguing Potty's Mudblood best friend was another -- even if someone else was wearing her skin.

She didn't _feel_ malevolent, though; just _angry_. He stuck a finger into her -- wet. He leaned over her, all his weight on his knees, one hand holding her hair to the tile.

"Sucking cock makes you hot, then, Mudblood?" he asked.

"I told you not to call me that, _Malfoy_. Want a repeat of last time?"

"You mean when you tied me up and made me come? Oh, please; you think that's the worst thing ever done to me?" He leaned closer, until their mouths almost touched. He felt her muscles spasm around his finger, and worked another in. She was tight, but not too tight. He could fit three.

She was going to have bruises on her thighs. He kind of liked that. So, apparently, did she.

"What's the worst thing, then?"

"I don't think you could even _imagine_ ," said Draco into her mouth, then pulled away, took his knees away, lifted her hips in his hands. Her arms went above her head, her knees bent, her feet pressed into the floor, pressed her hips up higher. He pushed into her, slipped on the tile, fell onto her chest. She moaned; he twisted his hips. Her robe scratched his nipples, his hair hung into her face.

"I could guess," she said, breathing heavily. "I know so many more things than you think." She moved a hand to his arse, dug her nails in. He felt blood trickle out, and he twisted his hips again, pulled out, pushed in. They moved on the slick tile, the faster he thrust, until they were against the opposite wall, and he lifted her head -- brains all over the floor was not erotic.

She was tight, burning hot, and so was he, and when he sat down and pulled her on top of him, she moved her hands to his chest and pinched his nipples. "So pink," she said, and he flashed onto the last time, when she called him feminine, when she twisted one of his nipples almost until he cried out.

"So your father," she said breathlessly. "Tell me, is he as gentled as you are? As pathetic in bed? Does he thrust so softly, not wanting to hurt you?" She rolled her hips, scratched her nails down his back. "What about Blaise? Do -- "

He pulled her face down to hers. Her hips were moving fast -- faster than a bookworm's hips should move -- and he bit her neck, sank his teeth in until he tasted coppery blood, and then she was coming, groaning, and he bit harder, didn't let go.

"Blood for blood," he said when Granger pulled away. She framed his face with her hands and licked her blood off his mouth. Draco dug his fingers into her hips, leaned backwards, thrust harder, harder. She twisted his nipples, pulled on them, and he came silently.

Draco closed his eyes when he came, and thought of his father's face, twisted into a sneer, his voice low and dangers -- "Fucking a Muggle-born, Draco? How base. Have your fun now, boy."

He opened them to Granger sucking his blood off her fingers. The tile was too cold now; his skin was chilled instead of feverish.

"Your father really gets you off," she said, and he slapped her.

"Don't ever speak of my father."

"Why not?" she replied. His handprint was red on her pale cheek, but her eyes hadn't even teared. "You speak of mine."

"Not anymore." Draco lifted her off his lap. They really had fucked their way across the room. He turned on the tap for hot water and took a fistful of soap from the dispenser. Orange-scented.

"What are you doing?" Granger sat right under the spray, her hair wet down her back, her robe still rucked around her waist.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He hissed when the soap hit the scratches and welts she'd left, but he rubbed it in, then took her hands and lathered her fingers, making sure to get under her nails.

He moved her out from under the spray and rinsed off, careful to run a hand over his cock, and then pulled her back under, washing all traces of himself from her cunt.

"Do you know how much magic one can do if one has the proper ingredients?" he said to her.

"Of course I do." Granger sniffed. She looked good wet, haughty. Too bad she was a Gryffindor, a Muggle-loving Mudblood. Her thighs were already bruising, her neck bleeding onto her robe. Draco rubbed another handful of soap onto the bite. No saliva left for her. Or for whoever it was.

"Ouch!"

"Shut up."

"You shut up. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"No saliva," said Draco, and he shook her. "Obviously you're no one dressed up as Granger, because only Gryffindors are stupid enough to think I would leave body fluid for you to use."

Granger sniffed again. "You're insane, Malfoy."

He debated slapping her again; it made his hand tingle nicely. But it would be overkill, he decided, and he rinsed her neck while she glared at him, and turned off the tap.

"I suggest you get out of here before Gryffindor's practice starts. I'm sure you can find the way."

Draco took a fresh towel, wrapped it around himself, and walked out. Didn't look back. He hadn't wanted to turn his back on her, especially since she was completely off her nut insane, but to back out of the room would be to admit defeat.

And he wasn't feeling too defeated.

*

Draco was still in a good mood when Crabbe knocked on his door that night. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Uh. Help?" said Crabbe.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Can't you buffoons do anything without me?"

"Uh. No?" said Crabbe, and held out a scroll.

"All right. Come in." Draco stepped back, closed the door behind Crabbe, and turned.

And it was Granger. He was suddenly not in a very good mood.

"That was too easy," she said. "Don't you have blood wards?"

"Gryffindor Tower has blood wards?" Draco slipped his wand out of his sleeve and into his hand.

"No. And you might as well put that away. I'm not here to duel."

"Good, because you'd lose." Draco kept his wand in his hand. Granger had that look in her eye, the same one she'd had in the shower, the one that made his skin feel like it was too tight.

"Witty comeback." She sat on his bed, crossed her legs. She wasn't wearing her robes, just pants and a shirt, of a sort he'd never seen before. Strange Muggle clothing, he figured; only Granger would bother wearing Muggle clothes when Wizarding clothes were so much more comfortable.

"What do you want?"

"What do you think I want?" She smiled. He shivered. "Put your wand away, Malfoy."

Instead of sliding it back into his shirtsleeve, he set it on his desk. "Granger, I am warning you -- "

"You can't warn me of anything, Malfoy. Just like no one would believe that you would ever touch me, no one would ever believe that I would come to your rooms. We're in a Mexican standoff."

"A what? Is that something Muggle?"

"It's like I have my wand pointed at you and you have your wand pointed at me, and neither of us can win without losing." Granger paused, shook her head. "Nevermind."

"I am not interested in your strange Muggle theories." Draco leaned against the desk.

"I will make you interested," said Granger. Her voice was low, and it sounded like she was laughing at him. "I will make you interested in everything I want you to be interested in, and I won't even have to use magic."

"I don't think so, Granger."

"I do." She stood up and stalked toward him, grabbed him by the collar and pushed him against the wall. "Do you like how I'm strong enough to make you do what I want?"

"You're not," he said, and pushed back. He was totally unprepared for her fist in his face. He saw stars, slumped a little.

"I am," she said, and kneed him in the balls. He gasped and doubled over, and she put her foot on his neck, pressed him into the floor. "I really, really am. You're too easy. I'd think Lucius Malfoy's son would be better prepared for hand-to-hand combat."

"Hand-to-hand combat is for Muggles and Squibs," replied Draco. He evened out his breathing; she hadn't kneed him that hard, and it didn't hurt as much as it had surprised him. He wished he'd had the forethought to grab his wand on his way down. Her heel dug into his neck, and he was getting really tired of her attitude.

"And for women," she said.

"Women are -- " Her foot pressed harder against his neck and cut off his air. He gasped. "Granger!"

"Oh, Malfoy." She sat on him, on his thighs, pressed him harder into the floor. She lifted his head by his hair. He pressed his hands into the floor and pushed himself up, but couldn't knock her off. He rolled over, and she pulled his hair harder. Tears came to his eyes, but he pushed her harder into the floor, as hard as he could. It wasn't enough -- her legs entwined with his and she rolled them over again, was on top again, her fingernails scraping over his scalp.

"Granger, stop -- "

"Beg me."

"Never."

"Beg me."

"No."

She sighed, and he got the feeling she was as impatient with him as he was with her, just as annoyed. She banged his head into the floor and he tasted blood where his tooth cut his lower lip.

She was moving, moving down his body, breathing onto his neck. She mouthed his skin, tested it with her teeth, nipped. He twisted under her, threw her off, and she laughed when she banged into the desk.

"Go ahead, Malfoy. Show me who's in charge." She laughed again, harshly, and he grabbed his wand off the desk.

"Is that what you want?" he asked. "You want me to what? Tie you up? Rape you? You're such a plebian." Her face twisted, going from amused to angry before he could even blink. "Get out of my room, Granger. I'm not going to play your silly Gryffindor games."

She slapped him again, and he was glad he hadn't hit her in the showers, because he could now without feeling melodramatic. And he did, grabbed her wrist in his hand, felt her small bones grind together under his fingers. She hit him with her other hand, knocked him on the ear, scratched his face.

"Is this it? You found you had a taste for mean?" he snarled. They wrestled for his wand, but he won, held her down. "You can't beat me without magic, Mudblood."

She twisted again, did that thing with her legs, flipped him over. Her fingers in his hair, her legs on his hips and he could feel himself getting hard under her. There was blood on her face, and her hair was sticking up, and there was a long, bloody scratch on her neck that went down to her chest. He caught his breath.

She twisted her fingers in his hair, pulled it hard, growled. He felt the vibrations all the way through his body. "Blood for blood," she said, and bit his ear. He groaned, let his wand roll away, grabbed her around the waist, and let her suck on his skin, his neck, bite her way down his chest.

"Don't bite my cock," he said, and she scraped her teeth over his trousers, unbuttoned them with one hand, and took him into her throat the way she had in the showers, all in one go, without even taking a breath first. Her fingernails scraped his arse and thighs as she drew his trousers down, and then dug into his stomach. When she came up for air, their eyes met. Her mouth was bloody, her eyes sparking.

"I will bite whatever I want to," she said, and went back down.

*

He fucked her on his bed; stone floors were too much even for his knees. He left a row of bite marks down her back, scratched his name onto her arse with his fingernails, and bloodied her lip when she pulled his hair while he was going down on her.

After she left, he examined his battle wounds; his face was swollen, he had two black eyes, and he thought maybe one of his fingers was broken. Looking at himself in the clucking mirror, he decided he was in the mood for more. He'd only come twice; she'd come five times. He'd counted.

Granger wasn't the only one who knew glamour charms. He took his wand and the lubrication Potion he used with Blaise. Just in case Gryffindor Tower really did have blood wards, he cleaned her blood out from under his fingernails before he healed himself, and took it with him in a phial.

  



End file.
